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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24224956">come alive</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells'>tansybells</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Implied Nudity, Inspired by Pygmalion and Galatea (Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore), Painting, Passionate Retelling of Greek Mythology, Semi-Nude Modeling, The Gays Love Greeks, Yes I Know Galatea is Ingrid's Name, no i do not address it, what can i say</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:02:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24224956</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote><p>“Um, I don’t really understand why we’re doing this. Don’t you have people that come and model at the studio you like to work at?”</p><p>
“Mm, yeah.” Hilda didn’t look up from the canvas in front of her, but just gnawed on the end of her paintbrush.</p>
<p>
"Then… what are we doing now?”</p>
<p>
“Huh?”</p>
<p>
“Why am I wrapped up in the sheet from your bed?”</p></blockquote><p>Marianne models for one of Hilda's paintings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>come alive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrembrulee/gifts">scrembrulee</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marianne sat stiffly on the couch she’d been told to make herself comfortable on, the sheet that Hilda had strategically draped around her body blessedly cool against her skin. Despite her attempt to remain as still as possible, she couldn’t help but adjust her position ever so slightly. Her hair, instead of being in the mess of braids that she normally preferred, had been ceremoniously taken down and put back up in a style that Marianne could only recognize as ancient—and now that she fit the vision Hilda wanted to recognize, there was nothing left for Marianne to do but hope Hilda could capture her likeness sooner rather than later.</p><p>“Hilda?” she asked, trying to hold her head so delicately still that the curls that framed her face and trickled down the nape of her neck didn’t fall out of place.</p><p>“What’s up?” Hilda replied, in that off-handed way that indicated that she wasn’t entirely paying attention. Not that Marianne was very surprised; Hilda’s dedication to her craft was one of the things she admired about her partner.</p><p>“Um, I don’t really understand why we’re doing this. Don’t you have people that come and model at the studio?”</p><p>“Mm, yeah.” Hilda didn’t look up from the canvas in front of her, but just gnawed on the end of her paintbrush. She’d been at it for so long that the wood was now covered with tooth marks, but Marianne had to suppose that it was at least better than if Hilda had decided to chew on the acrylic-dipped bristles on the other end.</p><p>“Then… what are we doing now?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Why am <em>I</em> wrapped up in the sheet from your bed?”</p><p>“It’s for a project, Mari. I’m trying to make you look like this super old-timey Grecian lady. Hold on, stay still.”</p><p>Marianne slid her gaze back towards the spot on the wall that Hilda had directed her towards before she’d first started painting. Out of the corner of her peripheral vision, she finally saw the paintbrush drop from Hilda’s mouth to make contact with the canvas. Marianne let her eyelids flutter to a half-closed position and adopted as much of a dreamy expression as she could.</p><p>It wasn’t easy. As soon as she resolved to be as still as stone, her eye would start twitching. Her nose would begin to itch. Every instinct screamed to move, just a tiny bit, resolve the itch—but Marianne set her jaw and refused to budge. </p><p>“Perfect,” Hilda murmured from her seat, “stay just like that.”</p><p>They remained like that for some time, faint pop music playing from Hilda’s phone. Hilda offered quiet encouragement every so often, and the atmosphere created by the combination of the music, Hilda’s occasional contemplative sighs, and the gentle scratching of brush to medium was one that left Marianne content to simply let the afternoon pass by.</p><p>Hilda’s sudden decision to speak up caught Marianne off-guard.</p><p>“So, I forgot to tell you why I’m doing this,” she said as she rinsed her brush off and dropped it in the cup that held all of the other brushes she’d pulled out for the project. “You can move, by the way! I got what I needed.”</p><p>“Oh, thank you,” Marianne said, her muscles sighing in relief as she let her pose go. She barely allowed them to acclimate to the stretch before she slowly moved out of her lounging position and stretched out so that she sank down into the couch cushions like a ship let loose into a sea of pillows.  “What did you want to say?”</p><p>“Ok. So.” Hilda clapped her hands together, the glee shining in her tired eyes leaking into her smile.  “I don’t know if you were ever super into Greek myths as a kid, but it’s like, a thing for gay kids. There was this one dude I was always interested in—a sculptor. I can’t actually remember his name, though.”</p><p>“I really only read the ones that had the winged horse,” Marianne supplied, despite being fully aware that she wasn’t being helpful. She knew that Hilda enjoyed listening to her, whenever she did feel like talking, and it was a comfort to know that she wouldn’t be shut down for her thoughts. It didn’t matter how silly they were. Hilda would listen.</p><p>She twisted about on the couch, careful to keep herself covered with the sheet as she propped herself up against the armrest and faced Hilda. “Tell me about him,” she prompted with a little smile, “the sculptor.”</p><p>“Well. This sculptor dude, he was the best. Everyone loved the stuff he made. He’d drop the curtain on something new and they’d just flip the fuck out.”</p><p>“I can see why you preferred that.” After all, Hilda’s confidence in her own creations rivalled her description of the sculptor’s skill. She thought she was the best, just as he did—and if her vague knowledge of Greek mythology was any indication, there was a reason for that confidence.</p><p>Hilda rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Ma<em>ri, </em> that’s not the <em> point </em>!” she said, a laugh hidden within her playful frustration. Marianne let a bit of her own giggle loose, and Hilda’s smile turned mischievous.</p><p>“The <em> point </em> is,” she said, grabbing a dry paintbrush from her cup and twirling around like a baton as she rose from her seat, “this man was the best.” Marianne held her breath as she watched Hilda walk to join her at the couch, as Hilda lifted the hem of her skirt high enough that she could move without restriction and moved to straddle Marianne’s hips. “So, one day, he decided to <em> prove </em>it.”</p><p>“Why would he—”</p><p>“Shhh, Mari.” Hilda tapped the wooden end of her paintbrush against Marianne’s lips. Marianne promptly quieted, but lifted a brow with curiosity while Hilda tucked the paintbrush back behind her ear. “Doesn’t matter. What mattered was…”</p><p>Marianne blushed as Hilda’s roving gaze ran over her body. She’d gotten comfortable while Hilda painted, it seemed, for only now did she remember that the only thing between Hilda and her bare body was the sheet that had been draped over her at the very beginning. Yet then, Hilda leaned in over her and, after pressing a kiss to the point right beneath Marianne’s ear, whispered, “His subject.”</p><p>A shudder ran down the back of Marianne’s neck, and she felt gooseflesh begin to creep down her arms. She was grateful for the sheet, thin as the covering was, since the longer Hilda insisted on toying around with her like this, the more difficult it would be to stay calm.</p><p>“To prove his skill,” Hilda finally continued, obviously ignoring Marianne’s building distress as she sat back up, “the guy decided to sculpt the most beautiful woman that ever existed. She wasn’t real, obviously, but the longer he spent on her creation, the more real she became to him. And once he was done, the worst thing happened.”</p><p>Plucking the paintbrush out from behind her ear, Hilda ran the bristled end down Marianne’s neck. “He fell in love with the statue. His own creation.”</p><p>Marianne blinked rapidly, torn between arching her back at the tickling sensation and wrapping her mind around the bizarre story Hilda was trying to weave.</p><p>“He named her Galatea. <em> That </em> name, I remember. I named a hamster after her. But anyway, he was just… <em> so </em>in love with her. He brought her food every day. He changed her clothes. He knew every inch of her body.”</p><p>“The dip of her collar.”</p><p>Marianne’s breath trembled as Hilda drew the brush down to her collarbone.</p><p>“The ivory of her skin.”</p><p>It tickled across the bare flesh of her shoulder.</p><p>“The curve of her breast.”</p><p>The thin sheet buckled beneath even the feather-light touch of the brush Hilda so artfully wielded, threatening to fall down beyond what cleavage was already revealed. Yet before Marianne could move to cover herself, Hilda had already pulled the brush down to the sensitive skin where her ribcage met her chest.</p><p>“The cupid’s bow of her cold, stone lips.”</p><p>Without letting herself think, Marianne pulled herself just far enough up that she could clasp Hilda’s face between her hands and bring her in for a kiss. Her lips were soft, sticky with lip gloss, and Marianne only let her go after her breath was too far gone to continue.</p><p>“Yours aren’t cold,” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath as she looked Hilda straight-on. Hilda returned the look, wide-eyed with awe as she nonchalantly tossed the paintbrush to the ground, then smiled wryly.</p><p>“And soon, neither were hers,” Hilda crooned, leaning forward and brushing her thumb against Marianne’s lower lip. “The gods took pity on the dude, and as he kissed her, they brought her to life.”</p><p>“And they lived happily ever after?”</p><p>“That’s not usually how the Greek stories go, but yeah. They lived happily ever after.”</p><p>Marianne chuckled as Hilda let go of her lower lip and pushed her down for another kiss. As content as she was to let Hilda carry on with the way things were going, see what she would do next, it suddenly struck her that Hilda had never fully answered her question.</p><p>“What does this have to do with me in a sheet?” she asked as she propped herself up onto her elbows. Hilda swung her leg back over Marianne and set both feet on the floor. “Why not use one of your studio models?”</p><p>“Oh, right!” Hilda wiped her face free of smudged lip gloss as she stood. “I wanted to put, like, a spin on it. Wanna see?”</p><p>“Ah, yes please,” Marianne said, reaching back to check the state of her hair. The hair-sprayed curls crunched between her fingers, but the structural integrity of the intricate style seemed to be largely intact. Even so, she hoped that Hilda was happy with the piece she’d done, because she didn’t know if she could go through the process of getting her hair put up again.</p><p>With a mischievous grin, Hilda grabbed the canvas she’d been working on and turned it around so Marianne could see.</p><p>Marianne’s jaw dropped; she sat up and touched her fingers to her lips as she looked the painting over.</p><p>It was her. Not that she was surprised by the subject matter, though, for she’d just spent the last afternoon posing for it. What <em> did </em> surprise her was the grace and delicacy with which her likeness had been captured.</p><p>The stiff nature of her pose, combined with the deep shadows and highlights of the sheet that hung off of her, provided a subtle contrast to the dignified way with which Hilda had painted the softness of her expression. And between the sheet—which Marianne now understood to be reminiscent of a Greek chiton—and the ancient curls that made up her hairstyle, Hilda had created a timeless quality to her visage.</p><p>What struck her the most, however, was the colors Hilda had chosen. Hilda had tempered the warmth of life with cool greys and blues. The only true colors to be seen in the painting were the blue of her eyes, the gentle gloss to her lips.</p><p>“You made me Galatea.”</p><p>Marianne looked from the painting, simple as it was, to the artist herself, whose beaming smile was anything but.</p><p>“Hilda, it’s beautiful.”</p><p>Hilda shone with pride at the compliment. Marianne smiled at the sight. She didn’t quite understand the point Hilda was trying to make with the imagery of herself as Galatea, but the fact that her girlfriend had gone to such lengths to make her look so beautiful on the canvas meant more than enough for her.</p><p>Rising from her seat, Marianne clutched the sheet close to her chest and around her waist so that she could walk to Hilda without fear of the sheet falling off entirely.</p><p>“But… I still don’t really get it,” she admitted, standing by Hilda’s shoulder and resting her head against her girlfriend’s. “Why this particular story?”</p><p>“I wanted to make her look like you,” Hilda said, the tone of her voice making it clear that she thought her intentions were obvious. “You’re… kinda like her, I mean.”</p><p>Marianne hummed to signify that she was listening, that she trusted her understanding would come with further explanation.</p><p>“I got to watch you come alive, I guess. I remember how quiet you were when we were kids, like you were scared that something bad was going to happen if you didn’t somehow prevent it.”</p><p>“And, like, I already loved you then, you know? I was absolutely head over heels, Mari. But to get to see you work past that and blossom into your own like the most beautiful flower—it’s like you <em> were </em>Galatea, being brought to life by the gods.”</p><p>Hilda paused. “Except, I guess you were also the gods in this scenario. Because you pretty much did it all on your own.”</p><p>Marianne felt a flush rise to the apples of her cheeks, burning the back of her neck and the tops of her ears in the process. She tried to say something, to express to Hilda how touching and thoughtful her process was, how much it meant for her to be witnessed in such an intimate way, but she couldn’t seem to figure out how to make the words come out in any meaningful order.</p><p>So instead, she leaned in to press a kiss against Hilda’s cheek. And when Hilda turned to her with a smile dancing in her eyes, Marianne took advantage of the moment to swoop in and capture her lips in return.</p><p>“And they lived happily ever after?” she prompted, pulling away just far enough that she could wrap her arms around Hilda, press their cheeks together, and still see the work Hilda had poured her heart into. </p><p>She was loved. How could she <em> not </em> be loved--especially when Hilda saw her like <em> that </em>? A shining, beautiful, statuesque woman who had come to life for her own sake, for the sake of her love? </p><p>Against her cheek, she felt Hilda’s expression soften. </p><p>“I already told you, silly,” she said, weaving her arms around Marianne in a return of her embrace. “That’s not how the Greek ones work out.” </p><p>“But...yeah. They lived happily ever after, Mari. And we will, too.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/pseuds/Ethereally">Eth</a> for their incredibly quick beta-ing of this fic! </p><p>and an even bigger thank you to the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrembrulee">Basil</a> for an amazing first year together. may this only be the first of many. i love you dearly, and i am grateful for you every day of my life. you make me smile, give me hope for our future together, and inspire me to be a stronger person. you <i>are</i> the gay who loves greece, and i'm so glad dwj posthumously brought us together. love you, dingbat!</p><p>I really hope you enjoyed reading! I can be found on my <a href="tansybells.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> and my <a href="twitter.com/tansybells">twitter,</a> and comments and kudos are always appreciated ❤</p></blockquote></div></div>
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